Torment (Carter Kids #4)

by Chloe Walsh

  Noah was struggling and I was helpless as to how to help him. He wasn't a child. I couldn't force him to open up and talk about his feelings. Noah did what he wanted to. He wasn't a man you could push around.

  Angry Noah, I could handle.

  But sad Noah… sad Noah broke my damn heart.

  He reminded me of a huge, wounded, overgrown boy with these huge puppy dog brown eyes and as prickly as a thorn.

  These past eight weeks had been rocky to say the least. Knowing Noah was angry and hurting didn't bode well with me. Knowing there was a part of him that blamed me for Tommy's death? Well, that sucked. Big, fat donkey balls.

  I should have realized what Tommy Moyet's death would do to my husband. It made me regret telling him so much.

  Because of me, my husband's last moments with his best friend were marred with cruel words and feelings of bitter betrayal.

  Even though I felt bad, I didn't regret doing what I did that night.

  Using the child in my stomach to keep Noah safe.

  I would do it a hundred times over if it gave me the same results.

  My husband was alive and breathing.

  That I could handle.

  Him six feet under, I could not.

  I didn't know how to help him. He was grieving and still feeling betrayed. I would be a fool if I said I didn't feel responsible. Their friendship was life long and I'd ruined it with a few words. I wished I had kept my mouth shut. I wished Noah wasn't left with this horrible, bitter taste in his mouth.

  He wasn't blaming me. Not out loud at least, but it was there. Simmering away inside of him, festering like a boil, waiting to burst and ooze.

  I wanted to be there for him. I did. But I was a horrible liar. I couldn't fake a damn thing. I didn't like Tommy Moyet and he didn't like me. I couldn't change that now just because he was lying in a coffin.

  I missed the old Noah. I knew it sounded like I was never happy, but I hated watching him moping around and knowing he felt so bad made me feel downright awful. I was losing my husband.

  Sure, he was downstairs in the basement right now, and every night he slept beside me, but I had the worst feeling in the pit of my stomach.

  He was working himself to the bone, dealing with grief that couldn't be solved with a punching bag. He was injured, argumentative, and the man wouldn't listen to a damn word anyone said. Not his doctors or his physiotherapists. He was slipping further away from me, day by day, and I had no idea how to fix this.

  How did I comfort my husband when the burden fell so heavily on his shoulders?

  I couldn't tell him it wasn't our fault.

  We both knew who Javi had intended to kill that night – and it wasn't Tommy Moyet.

  Noah felt responsible for not saving Tommy and he blamed me for making him stay. Of course, he'd never say it, but he didn't have to.

  I could see it every time I looked into his eyes.

  I wasn't sorry and Noah knew it. Given the chance, I'd do it again in a heartbeat. I would never feel guilt for needing my husband alive and breathing.

  He didn't look at me like he used to.

  I didn't allow myself to dwell on it too much, though. How could I, when I had a not so itty bitty baby on the way?

  I was due in late December, right around the time Noah was to fight Anthony Cole for the heavyweight title, and I couldn't hide my excitement at the thought of impending motherhood.

  It was all I thought about day and night.

  What would she look like?

  Who would she take after?

  Would she be silent and brooding like her father, or a complete train wreck like her momma?

  Would she be tall?

  Blonde or black haired?

  We both had brown eyes, but what if hers were blue like the Carter's?

  Oh, the endless questions and suspense only added to my excitement…

  I had a scan last week. My gynecologist, Dr. Simms, told us that baby Messina was clocking in at an impressive three pounds and I had ten weeks left to go before my due date.

  I mean, what the hell?

  I prematurely mourned for the cosmetic value of my vagina.

  I knew full well it would never look the same again…

  I should have realized that I wasn't going to have a nice, petite, averaged sized baby.

  Oh no, I was carrying my husband's baby, and everyone knew that Noah Messina didn't do anything by halves.

  Apparently, his sperm held the same traits.

  I was huge, swollen, and craving everything bad. Sweets. Pickled onions with chips. Coal. Noah's dick. Everything.

  Cankles. Cravings or not, I was beyond excited for the arrival of my little girl.

  Sure, at first I had been petrified, but that love everyone tells you about?

  It's real.

  It's overpowering and immediate, constant and evolving.

  I loved my daughter instantly.

  The moment I discovered she was inside of me, was the moment I woke up.

  The very instant I came to life.

  I honestly didn't know what I'd done before this pregnancy because my entire purpose and focus now was her. And she wasn't even here yet.

  I was doing everything by the book now. Taking all the prenatal vitamins and avoiding all the no-go foods.

  I had never smoked a day in my life and I was on a complete detox from alcohol.

  I was doing everything in my power to make my body as good an environment as possible for my little baby.

  The sound of several male voices coming from downstairs alerted me to the fact that my home was currently filled up with Carters.

  I could hear the three boys all trying to talk over the other. Every once and a while, I heard Logan pipe up, but not Noah.

  This didn’t surprise me one bit.

  He rarely came out of the basement these days, and based on his untouched side of the bed, I assumed he didn't come back to bed last night either.

  Stretching out on my side, I grabbed Noah's pillow and tucked it under my thigh. My damn sciatic nerve was acting up again.

  Once I had elevated my thigh I instantly felt better. Well, comfortable, at least. Yawning, I wiped the sleepy dust from my eyes and gazed out at the huge floor to ceiling window on the far side of our bedroom.

  I didn't care what Noah said, I was never giving this house up. He would have to pry the deeds of South Peak Road from my cold, dead hands.

  I was in love with the home Kyle and Lee Carter had gifted us.

  It was just so fresh, and beautiful, and so…big.

  I didn't understand why the Carter's had chosen to stay in Thirteenth Street when they had this mansion only twenty minutes away.

  The gardens. The house. The rustic walls and interior. The atmosphere. Everything was green and secluded and it felt like home. Like I was back in Ireland.

  Surrounded by the Rocky Mountains. I could seriously see myself living out my days in this place.

  Raising our daughter here…

  The peace and quiet of the mountains was too perfect to be true. So close to civilization and yet worlds apart. God, I couldn't imagine a more perfect place to settle down and have a family.

  Another bonus to this place was that it was locked up like a prison.

  There were security cameras on every possible entrance to the property. It was fenced and walled and gated like nothing I'd ever seen...

  "Goddammit, Colton!" Cameron's voice boomed through the house. "I told you to back the hell off."

  Cursing the Carter brothers under my breath, I dragged myself out from under my warm covers and waddled into the bathroom to relieve my bladder. The constant need to urinate was one of the few things I wouldn't miss about being pregnant.

  Struggling to remain balanced with the basketball wedded beneath my ribcage, I padded downstairs, in the direction to where it was all kicking off between the brothers. The minute I reached the kitchen doorway, the sound of raised voices caused me to take a mental raincheck. Turning on my
heels, I wandered down the hallway to the basement doorway and paused.

  The sounds of leather being throttled filled my ears, followed by the sound of his iPod dock blasting out song after song.

  Noah listened to angry music when he worked out. It had one hell of an effect on a person because I got riled up in the hallway just listening to it.

  I didn't want him down there, putting more strain on his body than he needed, but there was no talking to him. He did what he wanted, regardless of doctor's orders.

  He was hell bent on heading back on tour next week, and he'd be damned if anyone told him otherwise. He had a month's worth of out of state fights booked throughout November, and even though he'd been shot, Nick hadn't pulled it from the cards. There was a lot of money invested in my husband. He was the sole attraction of the MFA. No one wanted him to retire.

  No one except his wife, that was…

  I'd done everything I could to get him pulled from the cards, but Noah was determined.

  He was hell bent on taking Anthony Cole's title in December. Especially since Beau and Quincy were now training with him.

  Assholes…

  When I got downstairs, I was greeted by the sight of my husband shirtless and covered in sweat.

  He was locked in a sparring session with Lucky. Neither one looked up when I entered. They just continued to dance around each other, throwing jabs and dodging blows.

  Noah moved like a panther. His body displayed an impressive array of perfectly pumped muscles, rippling and glistening.

  The sound of his fists beating off the protective pads Lucky had on made me feel a little queasy. It was all fine if Noah was the one inflicting those blows, but the thought of him on the receiving end terrified me.

  "You didn’t come to bed last night?" I called out loudly, distracting my husband.

  Noah's head shot up, seeking me out and immediately, Lucky capitalized on his momentary distraction by socking him in the gut.

  Grunting from the impact, Noah flexed his shoulders and called time on their fight before pulling off his gloves and walking over to the counter to retrieve a bottle of water.

  I watched my husband as he drained the bottle in one long draught. "Sorry," he told me, tone breathless, when he had finished drinking.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted Lucky slipping quietly from the room and I made a mental note to thank him later. Lucky Casarazzi had my back. He may be Noah's best friend, but in a way he was mine, too. My husband's former cellmate was one of the few people on this planet who I believed had Noah's best interests at heart.

  I waited until I heard the click of the basement door before approaching Noah. I needed time with him and Lucky got that. Lately, Noah had been so consumed in regaining his pre-shooting form that he'd barely spent time out of this room.

  His brown eyes were on me as I prowled towards him. Instantly a thick cloud of desire settled low in my belly. One look from his dark, hooded eyes and I was a goner.

  I knew what he was.

  I knew who he was.

  A creature born for the sole purpose of creating carnage and inflicting pain.

  It was in his makeup – his genes.

  He was a living, breathing, fighting weapon.

  But he was also a man.

  A man I loved more than anyone else.

  Before him, I never knew or truly understood the term unconditional love. It wasn't something real or attainable. But now, standing here, I could safely say that I knew what it felt to love somebody unconditionally. Regardless of right and wrong. Regardless of sensibility. I loved him hard and I loved him forever.

  Passion… oh, passion like I'd never known existed overrode everything else inside of my body when it came to him. He had the ability to make me run. He could make me chase. It was infallible and undeniable.

  Seeing him now, all these years later, still fighting, still struggling to exist in a world he didn't fully fit into, made my heart hurt so bad.

  I was holding onto him, clinging to his light with both hands. In my heart, I had made a vow to keep him safe. I had vowed to protect him just as fiercely as he did me.

  Because of him, all the songs made sense. The words of love, of consuming obsession, of pain. I understood it now. I lived it.

  I'd been forewarned that loving this man would take me down. But there wasn't a damn thing I could do to stop it because if I had to live a life without him, without my heart, then what would the point be?

  He came back for me, time and again, proving me wrong, loving me in spite of my ugly parts.

  He was my home and I was his.

  The only question now was; how did we navigate this world together without self-destructing?

  We were like two bombs coexisting side by side, both equally flammable, both undeniably toxic.

  I hadn't come down here with the intention of making it with my husband, but right now, with him looking at me with that heated gaze, and my body's reaction to his, it seemed inevitable.

  "You good, Thorn?" Noah asked in a gruff tone when I reached him. Reaching out, he stroked my cheek with his knuckles and forced a smile.

  "I'm good, Noah," I replied, feeling like I wanted to crawl inside this man and never resurface. "You?"

  Letting out a heavy sigh, Noah dropped his hands to my waist and nodded once. "Tired."

  I had a million words of wisdom on the tip of my tongue, primed and poised to share with him, but they evaporated when I looked into his brown eyes and saw the turmoil inside.

  Feeling helpless, I stepped closer to him, until my belly pressed against his crotch.

  Immediately, Noah's brows shot up and he jerked back from me.

  "What?" I asked warily.

  "Our kid just kicked me in the junk," he shot back, red-faced.

  I grinned. "Awh, she's taking after her mommy." Waggling my brows, I added, "Beating boys up and she's not even born yet."

  Noah smirked and reclaimed the space he'd put between us. "Two of you," he mused. Reaching under my arms, Noah lifted me onto the countertop and settled between my legs. "Dear God, I'm doomed."

  "Are you okay?" I dared to ask as I slipped my arms around his neck. Sighing in contentment, I leaned my head forward and rested my forehead against his bare chest.

  "I'm good," I heard him say in an oddly tender tone before pressing a kiss to my head.

  I had a bazillion questions I longed to ask him, but I held off, enjoying being with this version of Noah. I'd take this version any day.

  My fingers trailed over the uneven skin on his shoulder, the skin that had been ripped apart by a bullet just a few months ago, and I bit back a moan.

  Maybe it was the pregnancy hormones, or maybe it was the red-blooded woman inside of me, but there was something incredibly sexy about a man who was so visceral and primal. His battle scars were a turn on, even if they did scare the life out of me. The knowledge of being in the arms of a man who was so completely capable of protecting me.

  God, it made me so hot for him.

  "I want sex."

  Noah threw his head back and laughed. "You say that like I can go out and buy it for you."

  "No need to buy anything," I shot back without an ounce of embarrassment as I wrapped my legs around his waist, trapping him. "Just take off your pants."

  Whether we were mad at each other or not, one thing Noah and I could always depend on was the physical side of our relationship.

  Grabbing at the waistband of his sweatpants, I pulled them roughly down. His erection fell heavily into my hand, and, like a woman starved of affection, I went to work on him. Fisting him, teasing the head of his cock with my thumb, smiling in delight when I felt a drop of pre cum. "Come on," I purred, urging him on. "Let's go, baby daddy!"

  ****

  Noah

  Jesus Christ.

  Teagan was sitting on the counter with her legs spread wide open and asking me to take her. She didn’t need to ask me twice. Being inside my wife was the only place I found peace an
ymore.

  She looked like Christmas morning to me. Every time I looked at her, something inside of me sped up and flapped around like a fucking crazed lunatic. I remembered hating her and her hating me. But now, now she was the only thing keeping me grounded. Keeping me sane.

  She rubbed my dick with her small hand, pulling me just the way I liked it.

  My eyes rolled back and my head fell forward as I reveled in her touch. In the sheer fucking pleasure she drew from my body.

  Only this woman, I thought to myself.

  Only Teagan Connolly had the power to sink me like this.

  Hissing out a breath, I dropped my hands on her bare thighs and trailed my fingers upwards to the apex of her thighs, to the fucking spot I was dying to bury myself in.

  "Oh god," she mewled the moment my fingers touched the outside of her panties. Moving my hands up to her rounded waist, I pulled on the edges of her panties, helping her out of them. "Don’t stop."

  Greedily, she thrust her hips towards me and clawed at my shoulders like a little kitten.

  "Hadn't planned on it," I whispered as I stroked her clit with the tip of my thumb before dipping my face and claiming her lips with mine. She tasted like home. I knew that sounded weird and fucked up, but it was the truth

  Being with Teagan felt like coming home. She was the only person in this world I felt like I belonged with, and the woman fucking owned me.

  How we'd gotten here, I'd never fully understand. I was a fuck up. I'd stumbled through most of my life, never knowing where I stood or where I was going, until I met my wife.

  From the moment I laid eyes on her all those years ago, an internal arrow inside of me directed itself towards her. Without thinking twice about it, I'd followed that arrow, led by the fucked up way she called to me, to something deep down inside of me.

  I followed her… just like I knew I always would.

  Her voice in my ears, moaning, breathless panting, it was too much. I would never tire of her.